


Truth of Captive

by carvbox



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Finger Sucking, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Lobotomy, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 20:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carvbox/pseuds/carvbox
Summary: It's been a long long long timeHow could I ever have lost youWhen I loved you





	Truth of Captive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kemort](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemort/gifts).



> This work is NSFW. 18+ please.
> 
> It's been a long long long time  
> How could I ever have lost you  
> When I loved you  
> It took a long long long time  
> Now I'm so happy I found you  
> How I love you  
> So many tears I was searching,  
> So many tears I was wasting, oh  
> Now I can see you, be you  
> How can I ever misplace you  
> How I want you  
> Oh I love you  
> You know that I need you  
> Ooh I love you
> 
> The Beatles - Long, Long, Long

For the love of God, or arguably Satan, you couldn't _fucking_ take it any longer.

Not this basement. 

Aziraphale's vintage bookshop was nestled comfortably within the depths of Soho. It contained two floors; or so he'd say. His bookshop was nothing like he intended for it to appear. It was a facade. 

Now, Aziraphale was an angel. There was no deception in that, it was an inherent fact. He had the wings (poorly groomed, mind you), the little halo (which appeared occasionally), and all of the other miscellaneous angel features to prove it. 

You were walking through Soho on a particularly ugly November day. The date was one you would never forget: November 32nd. That was the day your life was taken from you, to figuratively speak. That was the day, in one moment - one single God damned moment, your freedom, independence, and arguably purpose to live was snatched.

Literally.

It was absolutely suddenly and unexpectedly when a soft but incredibly strong hand covered your mouth from behind, the free one digging into your arm and guiding you forcefully into the entrance of the building you had been passing. A heavy metallic object hit your head hard and you were out.

As you regained your sense of reality, you looked down to discover your hands and legs were tightly bound together by black duct tape. You tried to scream but were met with muffled anguish.

"Ah! She's up," began an angelic face peering over you with eyes like icy pools. He gazed at you with a pure and loving demeanor. Home, you thought. 

"-and she's screaming. Someone shut the bloody cunt up!" An abrupt angry voice appeared from behind, tearing more duct tape with sharp teeth.

"Now, Crowley, _language._ You go home, I'll handle the human." The kinder man laid a hand on the other's shoulder, who nodded, pivoted around, and disappeared. His attention was now entirely fixated on you.

"Yes, well, my name is Aziraphale." He seemed to be uneasy. "And yours?" An embarrassed look. "Oh, yes, of course. You're bounded. Crowley put that nasty tape all over you. Well, I'm not going to, uh, interfere with his work. We need you all in one piece though, due to the work your going to be doing for us."

You swallowed.

"You're a lady. I've always wanted a lady in my basement. Now you can do my deeds!"

You swallowed again. This time, it was bile. 

The man became increasingly more and more tense, then suddenly seemed to gather himself completely. He was no longer trembling and had a tougher, more authoritative look on his face. 

"Right, well," his heavy and sophisticated English accent echoed off the walls, "We, my dear, will have a system. My dear friend Crowley and I cannot - erm - preform as your type can. We have standards, you see, that... cannot be met ourselves."

 _Jesus Christ._

"You will preform for us. You will do... duties for us, and we will repay you."

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

"Now, I know what you must be thinking. You likely have assumptions. I'll break it to you plainly, they are correct."

Aziraphale appeared just as petrified as you had felt. He was a good soul, you could sense, he didn't _want_ this. But a part of him had to have, somewhere, deep down, yearned for it.

Lust.

******************************************

The first three days of your stay in the basement (of Aziraphale's bookshop, you learned) were uneventful. You suffered with having to carry heavy chains, attached strategically to an old box freezer. You were fed a loaf of bread a day and a single glass of tap water. There was no sign of the 'Crowley' man and Aziraphale only came down to serve you then collect your dishes. He would avoid eye contact and not say a word, awkwardly clearing his throat as he ascended the stairs.

On the fourth day, you overheard a conversation from the top of the staircase. 

"Crowley, I really don't think - she's an innocent girl."

"Aziraphale," he warned.

" _Crowley_. What we're asking of her is far too extreme - traumatizing, even. I don't think -"

" _Aziraphale._ You said you wanted this, now there's no going back. Anyways, think about it, it will be a lovely sense of... relief for us. A real time-saver."

"You want me to make the girl-"

"You. Wanted. This."

Aziraphale let out a rather exasperated sigh, "Yes, love."

******************************************

You were awoken by the two men who were no men at all. Entities. Their bodies were vessels, merely, and you knew they wanted gratification. 

"Hello." Aziraphale smiled, shoulder to shoulder with the John Lennon Lookin' Ass demon. "Come with us, dear."

He knelt down to release you from your chains. You had the burning urge to run, to let your muscles seize and sprint out like the ill-fated motherfucker you were destined to be, but then his hand brushed against your's. That was all. It was a simple gesture, but absolutely electrifying, and to your own disgust, you felt... _amused._.

Then, the angel, so innocent, roughly grabbed your wrist. Hard enough to leave bruises. The way he grabbed you when he brought you to this place. He was soft but forceful. He led you up the stairs, following dutifully behind Crowley. You passed the shop-level and continued to the upstairs flat. Aziraphale pushed you onto the sofa, then the two men stood above you, peering with malicious intent.

"Tell her, Aziraphale. Tell her your - _our desires_."

Aziraphale looked at you, and he no longer had his innocent, pale blue eyes. They were filled with, well, nothing. It was looking into the abyss as the abyss stared back at you.

Dying, you thought, would be the easy way out. _Please, just kill me_.

"You remember we previously discussed 'duties'?" He began.

"I do." It was the first time you spoke since your arrival. It strained your throat.

"First, you will make a - a sandwich, woman." Aziraphale stood tall. Crowley smiled satisfied behind him. 

"You'll clean our dishes and iron clothing. My jacket, the one I am currently wearing, goes to the dry cleaner's."

_God._

"You will fold. Do our -" He winced at this part, "Domestic chores. God, I'm so sorry to put you through this. It was Crowley's idea."

You were bound there forever due to gender stereotypes living out the life of a 1950s female.


End file.
